My mama died in 1990.
She died and left me the eldest daughter.
It wasn't an easy going, her passing to the other side.
Our relationship was not at its peak...no, it was actually in a valley.
But...
that fact didn't alter fate.
Mama died.
And there was nothing I could do to ease her pain.
Nothing I could do for her, but by the hands of the universe,
the angels whispered into my ear in the dark of night,
"Go to Spain.
Heal thyself...go to Spain."
And so I did, I went to Spain to seek understanding.
I went to Spain with my best friend at the time.
With my husband's blessing, I packed my bags,
and flew, a wounded bird, with my friend across the Atlantic Ocean.
My dear friend and I were wanderers...
sojourners on separate pilgrimages.
His journey was to capture life in photographs;
My journey was to capture life in words.
Our journey, in the oddest of ways, was for both of us to heal.
And it was during this passage
that I witnessed the Sardana...
the Catalan folk dance.
We were in Tarragona where we participated in what
was the equivalent to our "4th of July" celebration in the USA--
it was their celebration of "las bombas"--
we watched in jubilation and curiosity
as Tarragona citizens walked toward the sea...
happy, with purpose, with pride.
We walked alongside them and stood stock still
as the musicians began to play,
as the citizens began to dance the Sardana.
I became part of the beauty of their circle of life...
and without as much as a whisper,
as their circle dance moved inward and outward,
as they raised locked hands first upward and downward...
a lifetime of love passed from my mother's hand to mine.
From that memory of the dance,
from that moment when the citizens of Tarragona joined hands
and danced in circles to celebrate their connectedness,
I give you: "La Sardana de Tarragona"
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